Undone
by coast.lines
Summary: Sam is missing something and when he tries to find it, he finds Eames instead.
1. Chapter 1

He never slept. He used to try and hide it, but now that Cas had confirmed his lack of soul, there was no reason to pretend anymore. He didn't see a reason to hide it in the first place, but Dean could look so broken when he didn't act like "himself." What was himself, anyway? Sam couldn't remember how he had been before. Now he was better, smoother, sharper. He was a better hunter. Dean called him a robot, but Sam felt like a machine – a more defined, better working, upgraded machine. Sleeker and more effective than ever before.

He realized that it was difficult for Dean to see him like this, realized it in his sort of detached and vaguely intrigued way. Apparently he used to understand Dean's behavior, but now it was totally foreign. So that was why he took the job in Vegas. Dean was off somewhere else, with Bobby, and he hadn't said anything when Sam told him about the job. Even telling Dean was an afterthought. Sam's one concern was the job.

It was an old casino, one that had once been the most popular but now was run down and forgotten, lost in the bright lights and blinding high-rises that Vegas had become. Rumor was that it was haunted, and after a company had bought it to renovate, strange things had started happening. Too strange to be anything but what Sam Winchester, hunting machine, specialized in. Of course, it hadn't stopped the business. It seemed nothing could stop gambling, not even what appeared to be a very vengeful spirit.

Sam pulled in and parked. The place was old, and should have had that certain charm that comes with old buildings. But it had definitely seen better days, probably most of them back in the era of the Wild West. If Dean were there, he would have quoted some Clint Eastwood line or something. Sam shook off thoughts of his brother, who now saw him as a stranger, and crossed the parking lot.

He entered the building and was assaulted immediately by the smell of smoke and whiskey. Even if the place no longer brought in gunslingers, it still looked and smelled like it did. There was a large enough crowd, mostly gathered around the tables, gambling their money away. He walked over to the bar and ordered a beer. After a brief chat with the bartender, who refused to talk about the strange happenings, he decided to take a tour of the room.

Sam's long legs made a quick trip of the front casino room and as he walked he found another private room towards the back. He entered the room, clouded in a thick haze of smoke. Taking a sip of his beer to look casual, he waited for his senses to adjust to the darkened room. He scanned the people sitting at the tables, instantly judging if they were suspicious or not. Then his eyes fell on a man, seated way back in the room, his face half covered in shadow. He wore a suit, tailored impeccably, and twirled a poker chip in his fingers. Sam moved closer, wanting to get a better look. Then the man moved forward. And with that small movement, he moved his face into the light. The yellow light from the cheap lamps flooded his features, revealing a strong jaw covered in scruff, sharp cheekbones, a broad forehead, languid eyes, and the most obscenely sexy mouth Sam had ever seen, man or woman. His dark hair was slicked back, but there was something undeniably animalistic about him, Sam thought. His musings were confirmed when the man looked up, and caught Sam's gaze. His eyes shifted over Sam's features, and he felt himself getting warm under his tie. The stranger fixed him with a gaze that was purely sexual, predatory without really being threatening. He moved his shoulders, and twirled the poker chip between his fingers. Sam retreated back into the main room of the casino and tried to review what had just happened to him.

But it seemed that categorizing the stranger was more difficult than it appeared. And after a couple of minutes and another beer, Sam went in search of the manager of the casino. Their meeting was totally useless. The manager, while helpful and earnest because he thought Sam was from a local newspaper, was completely unaware of any supernatural occurrences in the casino. In fact, he looked kind of guilty when Sam brought it up. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry. Sam decided he would come back later that night to scan for EMF just in case. He was about to make his exit when he found his way blocked by the stranger from the private room.

"Don't believe we've met," the stranger said, and extended his hand for Sam to shake.

It took a lot for Sam Winchester to feel crowded. He was above six feet, covered in ropy muscles and the sort of confident that only came with being totally aware of himself and what his body could do. But this stranger did it. He wasn't even standing that close and Sam felt invaded. The presence of this man was something Sam had never experienced before. Again Sam was reminded of an animal, barely controlled. The stranger was shorter than Sam, but built powerfully. Sam could see the rippling muscles beneath his tailored shirt. And when that mouth moved and spoke in the huskiest voice Sam had ever heard, his mind went immediately to something pornographic. It was impossible not to think of something like that with the voice that the stranger had.

"Sam Winchester." Sam said, returning the handshake, not even realizing he'd revealed his real name.

"Eames. Pleasure to meet you." Eames answered. "Care for a drink?" He gestured with an empty bourbon glass.

Sam nodded and followed Eames to the bar, not understanding himself entirely. Why was he following this man, a virtual stranger? Why was he sitting down at the bar next to him? Why were they sharing a bourbon together? Why had he given him his real name?

"I don't want to seem rude," Sam began, with one of his newly adopted phrases. Dean had told him that he was often abrupt, and that offended people so Sam started prefacing his thoughts with phrases like that.

"But why have I just invited you to have a drink when we're strangers?" Eames finished for him, his English accent sliding over and caressing the words like a lover's fingertips.

"Yeah."

Eames shrugged and fiddled with something inside of his pants pocket. "I can spot a liar from a mile away. Pegged you the minute you walked in here. So what are you pretending to be, Sam Winchester?"

Sam felt a bodily shiver when Eames said his name with that voice of his. Momentarily distracted by the way his mouth moved over his name, Sam blinked for a second before recovering. "Excuse me?"

Eames leaned forward and took a long sip from his glass. Sam stared at his jaw when he swallowed. "I believe you and I are in a similar business." He leaned back and scanned the bar, the picture of casual conversation. Sam meanwhile, felt hot and intimidated and, yes damn it, aroused. It was impossible for a man to be this beautiful, this unashamedly sexual. Sam wondered briefly if Eames was a siren. "Naturally, I prefer the term forger, but to each his own, really." Eames finished.


	2. Chapter 2

"Are you threatening me?" Sam blurted out.

Eames fixed him with a look, calculating but also humorous. Sam could see the amusement in his eyes. "Course not. I want to help you."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Help me with what?"

"Your suit."

Sam blinked, unsure if he had heard correctly.

"Listen, that suit looks as if it is made out of polyester and some other dreadful fabric. May I?" Before Sam had a chance to respond, Eames reached out and took the sleeve of Sam's jacket between his fingers. He rubbed his hands over the fabric and it was all Sam could do to not move his chair closer. He stared at Eames' fingers. They were long and capable, well-kept and clean without being feminine. He had a scar running along two of his knuckles and Sam could see the slightest hint of a vein running from his left hand up his arm, hidden by his sleeve and jacket.

Eames pulled away and looked up at Sam. Sam swallowed hard when he saw the darkened look in Eames' eyes. But then the other man smiled, wide and quick and took a long drag on his drink. "You really should look into getting a better suit."

"Why?"

"Nothing feels better against the skin than a good fabric." Eames said and winked.

Sam smiled – he could think of a few better things. First on the list was Eames' mouth.

Eames checked his watch. "Well I've got nothing better to do today. Would you care to come with me to my tailor? Get you a real suit?"

Sam found himself nodding and standing up before he even knew what was going on. Eames pulled cash from his clip and threw it on the bar.

"Shall we take your car?" Eames asked. "I'm staying at the hotel up the street and took a taxi here."

Sam nodded again and led the way to his car. Once they were both settled in the car, Eames gave him a few directions and Sam began to drive.

The car ride was quick and painless. It was remarkably easy for Sam to talk to Eames. He didn't have any of the usual setbacks that other seemed to have around him.

Once at the tailors, the old man had Sam remove his old clothes and try on a sample suit, which he will then use to create a custom jacket for Sam. Standing under the hot lights of the room, Sam felt uncomfortably on display. It didn't help matters that Eames stared at him like he wants to eat him alive.

"You've got quite broad shoulders." Eames commented off-handedly and removed his jacket. When Eames moved closer to converse with the tailor, Sam noticed that one of the buttons on his shirt had come undone. Without knowing what he was doing, Sam reached across the small space between them and hooked the button back in place. Eames caught and held his gaze, something hot and dark in his eyes until Sam looked down at his shoes.

Eames' laugh was dark and sexy, something Sam was shocked to hear outside of the bedroom. Instantly he had a flash of a hotel room, lights off, shades wide open to let the moonlight in. Eames sitting on the bed, his tan skin dark against the crisp white sheets. He looks down at Sam, between his legs, and laughs like that, breathless, satisfied and aroused at the same time.

When the tailor asked Sam to turn around, he blinked, shocked out of his fantasy. Eames' eyes were unreadable, wide and vaguely foggy, as if he had the same vision that Sam just had.

The tailor finished his measurements and Sam changed out of the jacket. He put his own pants and shirt back on. They are instructed to wait until he returns before they can leave.

A few moments later, in the midst of a casual conversation about the various parts of America each of them has seen, the room is suddenly plunged into darkness.

"Bloody hell!" Eames shouted. "D'you think they've forgotten about us?"

Instantly Sam was on high alert. He barely heard Eames talking. He waited a moment for his eyes to adjust, and while Eames was busy yelling for the tailor, Sam grabbed his gun from his jacket and cocked it. Eames stopped shouting when he heard Sam with his gun.

"Oh, you just carry a gun on you at all times, then?" He asked blandly.


	3. Chapter 3

"Why wouldn't I" Sam whispered back. He placed his finger over his mouth to keep Eames from talking any further. In the relative silence of the darkened room, Sam listened for any noise. After what felt like forever, he heard footsteps. He heard a grunting noise behind him and whirled around, but it was too dark to see. He couldn't hear or see Eames anymore. He gripped his gun tighter and was about to start shooting at the noise from the footsteps when the lights turned back on.

Sam blinked in the sudden brightness.

"Perhaps you should consider putting that gun away, Winchester." When Sam turned to face the sound of the voice of the tailor, he saw the man with a knife at Eames' neck. Eames struggled to try and get out of the man's grip but it was too strong.

Sam cocked his head, attempting to get a better look at the tailor. "What's going on here?"

All of his questions were answered when the man's eyes went matte black and a slow smile spread on his lips. "What does it look like?"

Sam's grip tightened on his gun as he felt his blood start to pump faster through his veins. His outward appearance betrayed no unease but inside he felt like an engine revving before a huge race. Adrenaline filled his body, sharpened his mind. "Let him go."

The demon laughed and shook his head. "I wasn't born yesterday. You and I have a score to settle and we are going to do it right now." Then he whistled and before Sam could turn around, he felt the press of another knife at his back.

"Drop the gun." Another demon said from behind Sam. He released the gun from his fingertips and let it fall to the ground. The demon behind Sam picked it up and threw it at the other demon, behind Eames.

"Then this is between us. He has nothing to do with it." Sam said.

Eames struggled as the demon tightened the knife against his throat. "You and I and your friend are going to take a trip."

"And what if I don't want to take this trip?" Sam shot back.

The demon smiled again and pressed the knife into Eames' throat, drawing blood and a grunt of pain from Eames.

"Should have just shot him." Eames said hoarsely as the blood from his throat fell down his neck and onto the collar of his shirt.

The demon motioned for Sam to go first and he began walking, the knife still pressed firmly at his back. When they reached the threshold of the door, Sam saw his chance. He veered to the left and stepped backward, turning around in time to grab the knife out of the demon's hand. He twirled the knife in his hand so that his hand was wrapped around the base and drove it deep into the demon's chest. The demon gave a gurgling cry and fell to the ground.

The demon behind Eames backed up and tried to get back into the large room instead of the small hallway. Eames struggled against him, managing to pry the gun loose from the demon's other hand. The gun dropped on the ground and Sam kicked it away. He reached behind him, to the pistol he kept in the waistband of his pants and clicked the safety off. The demon screamed and tried to pull Eames closer, tried to use him as a body shield. Sam took aim and shot, the bullet just barely missing Eames' ear before finding purchase between the demon's eyes. The demon screamed and fell, taking Eames down with him, blood flowing quickly from the head wound.

Sam reached down and helped Eames up, grasping the other man's forearm.

Once standing, Eames looked down at himself. His shirt was bloody, both from his own blood and the blood of the now-dead demon. "You could have shot me."

Sam shrugged and put the safety back on the gun. "I didn't."

Eames gave him an intense once-over and Sam felt all of the adrenaline go straight to his cock. And when Eames licked his lips just slightly it took everything inside of Sam to not groan out loud. "You did ruin a perfectly nice shirt though."

"Could have been worse," Sam commented off-handedly, rubbing the blade of the knife on the dead demon's shirt to clean it.

"How? This was expensive." Eames said. "Shall we?" He motioned towards the door.


End file.
